


Head Full of Vipers

by rivlee



Series: Gone Are All The Days [3]
Category: The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 18:56:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burgie and Snafu meet the new kids. Part of a Modern!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head Full of Vipers

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the HBO mini-series. No disrespect is meant. 
> 
> **A/N:** Unbeated. First posted in December of 2011, written for Kay’s Time Stamp Meme prompt.

**_California, April 2004_ **

“We got a new boot drop next door,” Merriell said, peering out of the kitchen window.

“Snaf, how many times do I have to tell you to stop stalking our neighbors,” Burgie said from the table.

“We got two of them, Burgie, moving in next to Jay. Don’t make me be neighborly.”

“Did I say anything about you being neighborly?” Burgie asked.

“You were thinking it.”

“Snaf, the only person on God’s green earth who can make you do shit you don’t want to is Gene.”

Merriell scoffed. “He think he be.”

“The Baby Jesus cries when you lie,” Burgie said. He took his coffee mug and joined Merriell by the sink. “Shit, those are our new boys.”

“I ain’t going over there and making nice,” Merriell said.

“At least not until Haldane orders us too,” Burgie said.

“Us?”

Burgie nodded. “Fine, me. Why I have to be the Welcome Wagon for the new boys, I don’t know.”

“It’s your gentlemanly manner,” Merriell said.

Burgie just laughed. “He probably figures if I can handle you, I can take anything.”

“I ain’t hard to handle,” Merriell said.

Burgie slapped him on the back of his head. “You ain’t, not once a person gets to know you.”

************

It’s not that Merriell didn’t like meeting new folks. Contrary to what everyone seemed to think of him, he enjoyed people watching. He and Gene-Baptiste would do it all the time when they went into the city, trailing beyond their grandparents, settling down on benches and booths, tracking all the strangers. They’d spend hours dreaming up the lives of those different people, with their expensive clothes and flashing jewels, harsh accents and and different manners. They’d make plans about their futures, leaving behind the bayou and living like those fancy folks. Life hadn’t turned out like that yet, but there was still a ways to go.

Merriell enjoyed the Marines, loved that they were all stripped down and forced onto an equal footing. It made it easier to deal with these new boys, with their educated words and crisp civilian clothes, spending money sent from their parents, driving nice trucks as opposed to shitboxes that only worked with the use of a fist and a prayer. 

Once those boys crossed the line onto the base, wearing the brand of the United States Marine Corps, no one cared about who their parents were or where they came from. They were here to be trained and to avoid getting themselves or anyone else killed. On the base, Merriell Shelton, Merl-Francis, became Snafu. He’d already been to war once, him and Burgie. They’d been in the shit, survived gob smacking levels of incompetency with another company in Afghanistan, and somehow found themselves slapped down in K/3/5. 

Even with the enforced equal footing, half the time he didn’t want to learn the new guys’ names. Either they’d be transferred out, or dropped out, or even worse. It seemed too much trouble when the only ones he really cared about were Burgie, his Gunny, Eddie Jones, and his Captain, Haldane. 

Merriell sat back in the mess and watched the new boys wander in, all clean clothes and confused, awkward smiles. Their last names were stenciled on their PT shirts and he couldn’t help but note them: _Oswalt_ , _Leyden_ , and _Sledge_. Oswalt was tall, Leyden shorter than Burgie with a dark sneer on his lips that Merriell could sympathize with, and Sledge looked far too damn delicate to even be here. His recruiter must’ve been desperate to fulfill his quota.

 

“Gunny asked us to go make friends,” Burgie side, sliding next to Merriell. “He says that we’re the best candidates to help the new boys fit into the platoon.”

“Why, cause we be neighbors?” Merriell scoffed. “The Hatfields and McCoys were neighbors too.”

Burgie laughed, shaking his head and trying to keep the sound from echoing in the room. “I think it’s more an age thing. Leyden just finished high school.”

“They shouldn’t be here, Burgie,” Merriell said. 

“I know,” Burgie said, “but they are. And we’ve got to do our best to make sure they stay around long enough to see twenty-five.”

“We got to go be nice now?” Merriell asked.

“I told Gunny we’d wait until we’re off base. They might feel more comfortable and it gives us an excuse to bail out if we need to.”

“Thanks, Burgie,” he said. He knew damn well Burgie did that for him. 

 

***********

The boot drops’ apartment smelled like new paint and packing tape. Merriell wanted to open a window, didn’t like feeling trapped like this, but he knew enough about propriety that you couldn’t just open someone else’s windows.

“Gunny Jones thought it’d be best if we helped you boys adjust to Oceanside,” Burgie said, using his soothing voice. 

“He thinks we can’t cut it?” Leyden asked, his harsh northern accent cutting through Merriell’s thoughts.

Most of the Northern boys started off at Parris Island, they didn’t come out to California until they made a unit like Recon. Leyden must’ve requested the placement, since everyone east of the Mississippi was supposed to go to South Carolina first. 

“It’s not that,” Burgie assured, “it’s just that of everyone in the platoon right now, we’re the closest to your age and we’re single, like you. Think of this as your ultimate fraternity and you’re new pledges.”

“So, you’re here to start the hazing?” Oswalt asked. He had a textbook in his hands. It was a medical tome, Merriell recognized it from the kind he’d seen Gene flip through. 

“You’ve gotten this far, I really don’t think you need any more hazing,” Burgie said.

“Besides, the Corps doesn’t welcome it anymore,” Merriell said.

“Bad for the image,” Burgie agreed, “too many boys couldn’t take it.”

“Bullshit,” Leyden said.

“Leyden, you know what a Red Alert is?” Snafu asked.

Leyden just rolled his eyes and walked over to the fridge, pulling out a beer without offering anyone else a drink. It was only Burgie’s stomping on his foot that kept him from commenting on the lack of hospitality and the underage drinking. 

“You have a third roommate, right?” Burgie asked.

“Gene Sledge,” Oswalt said, “he’s out now.”

“ _Gene_?” Merriell asked.

“Yeah, Eugene,” Leyden said, “he sounds like an old man.”

“Acts like one too,” Oswalt joked.

Merriell just couldn’t. He couldn’t take another Gene too young to be doing this shit. He grabbed Burgie’s shoulder and tugged hard. Burgie met his eyes, saw whatever Merriell desperately didn’t want him to, but needed him to see. 

“Snaf,” he said, “I forgot, but your Mama called. She said if you didn’t reply before dinner time, she’d fly out here and beat your ass. Why don’t you go do that, while me and the new boys talk.”

Merriell didn’t have to say thank you before slinking out of the apartment, trying not to show his panic.

He ran into Sledge on the walkway.

“Oh hell,” Sledge said, a southern drawl stressing the words. 

His brown eyes were too young, too wide, and Merriell could not do this right now.

“You going to lend a hand,” Sledge asked, trying to pick up the fallen groceries.

“New boys need to learn how to sweat,” Merriell said, more out of reflex than anything else. 

He stepped over Sledge, ignoring the glare thrown his way and went straight for the park across from the apartment complex. He pulled out his cell phone and flipped through the names until he got to the one he needed.

_Gene-Baptiste_.

He could call that number, but no one was going to answer. Gene-Baptiste was another world away, saving lives with nothing but medical tape and scraps of fabric. He could leave a message, had done it a few times in the past month, but it was cold comfort to a hard heart. 

He dialed it anyway. It was worth it, just to hear Gene-Baptiste’s voice. 

“Your co-dependency is showing,” Burgie said.

Merriell nodded in acknowledgement. No use lying to Burgie about anything. He took a deep breath and hung up his phone.

“His name is Eugene,” he said.

“I know,” Burgie said, “but he ain’t like your Gene.”

“We don’t know that,” Merriell said.

“Not yet,” Burgie conceded.

“I still ain’t going to make nice.”

Burgie threw an arm around his shoulder. “No one expects you to, not yet, not ever. The new boys will learn to how to bribe you with food and comic books. Don’t go easy on them and get us some free meals out of it.”

Merriell laughed. “No one believes me when I go and tell them you’re the evil one.”

“Only because you like playing the bad cop.” Burgie kicked his foot. “Let’s go the hell home. We’re missing _Jeopardy!_.”

Merriell just nodded and stood up, pulling Burgie with him. He couldn’t have his Gene-Baptiste right now, but Burgie did a damn good job of making things okay. They’d get through this together, hell, it wasn’t like there was a guarantee the boot drops would stay around. They’d probably wash out before it was time to ship out. 

Except maybe Leyden, he seemed like a scrapper. Merriell could respect that.

He looked over at the neighbors before Burgie dragged him back into the house. Sledge, the other Gene, was staring up at the night sky, looking five different kinds of lost.

No way in hell that boy would last.


End file.
